


silly boy, why are you worrying so?

by julieville



Category: Chronicle (2012), Dane Gang - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Dane Gang Secret Santa, Death, M/M, Magical Realism, Vomit, based on the nightingale and the rose by oscar wilde, i got an e in art history class idk this, salvador dali is not in this, selfharm, surrealism? i think?, the dane gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julieville/pseuds/julieville
Summary: julius wakes up in pain, but it doesn't matter. he just wants to give andrew a nice christmas present.





	silly boy, why are you worrying so?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aisu10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aisu10/gifts).



> based on the characters from the dane gang, a roleplay group that exclusively writes about the characters actor dane dehaan has played. this is a rejected fic from the dane gang secret santa event. (apparently christmas is supposed to be a happy time? who knew.)

julius doubles over in pain one night, hands clasping at his chest, an uncanny scream erupting from deep within his stomach. thin curtains stop moving in the winter draft, and in the pink hues from the streetlights outside the snowflakes falling looks like pieces of the sun.  
  
_i am in pain,_ he thinks, unable to breathe. _it might be so that my heart has stopped._  
  
his bedroom door flies open when he rolls onto his side, coughing hysterically into his pillow. on his lips and teeth there is blood and the taste of metal. warm hands grab him by the skin that’s been healed, now simply smooth and whole. it’s andrew, he’s sure. it’s andrew that’s here.  
  
_but i am still in pain_ , julius thinks and presses his palm against the side of his neck to feel his pulse. but it is not there. his heart is no longer beating.

* * *

julius wakes up in andrew’s bed with white sheets around the two of them. andrew is still asleep, and for a moment julius thinks that it might have been a dream. but when he slides his fingers underneath his shirt and presses it to the left side of his chest, he still feels nothing. there is no heartbeat, and his blood is standing still. nothing new is being made. if he bleeds he will die.  
  
he looks at andrew’s sleeping body for a moment, seeing the sleeping face that’s still awaiting christmas eve. in just twelve hours that will be, but julius couldn’t finish his gift because of the pain. he has no gift to give.  
  
what is he to do now?

* * *

julius asks jason to cut the vegetables so he can make the table instead. if he were to cut himself it would be the end. across the table is andrew, trying to fold napkins into triangles. beside him is lucien, watching intensely. harry is looking through the bar. he has gifts for everyone hidden in his room. for lucien there’s a notebook, for harry a pair of gloves, for jason a scarf. for vincent he bought a cookbook. andrew is the only one that won’t be able to get his present in time. julius must find something else for the boy that saved his life once.

* * *

he takes the matter onto the street, walking around with one of his clones’ coats that he got to borrow, even though it’s both too big and not very warm. he walks through the snow and ignores the santa clauses shouting merry christmas to him. there’s a panic rising inside of him when he realizes that nothing is open anymore. it’s christmas after all.

  
however, he finds a small flower shop, the one right beside a closed bakery. the woman inside is stressed and very tired, glaring holes into julius’ small body when he enters and looks her right in the eye.  
  
‘i need red roses,’ he says with his tongue in his cheek. ‘it’s a present for my brother.’

‘we don’t have red roses,’ she replies and waves a gloved hand towards a bucket beside some flowers that are nothing but green leaves. inside of the bucket is water and thin roses in plastic wrapper. ‘those are all we have left. you’re late.’  
  
julius walks up to it and crouches, eyeing the roses is yellow, pink and white. there’s three bouquets of the pink, four of the yellow and one of the white. in every bouquet there is three. he takes the white and heads home, because he has an idea. andrew will get his present.

* * *

in the bathroom with the locked door a small boy sits on the edge of the bathtub, breathing heavily. in his hand is a pair of scissors, and in the other is nothing but his trembling fist. he feels like he can’t do it, like he can’t pierce his skin in such a gruesome way as this. he has towels just in case, and new gauzes in his lap. on the edge of the sink lies three roses, all white and pure. julius stares at them, doubtful, but andrew must have a present. if someone in this awful house deserves a present, it is andrew. no matter the price, he must know that julius loves him in a way he has never loved anyone before. it’s gratitude. it’s desperate comfort.  
  
he lets out a twisted sob as he places the blade of the open scissors against his palm and shoves the pointy end of it into his wrist, slowly, just because he’s not clever enough to do it fast and because the pain is too much.  
  
he chokes on tears when about two inches of the metal is beneath the skin, and he leaves it there as he bends over and throws up inside of the bathtub. all of him shakes, and he slides down onto the floor so he won’t tip over when he pulls it out. the shears had previously held all of his dead blood in, but now it’s gushing out, dripping down his forearm and down onto his shirt and thighs. he does it fast as he knows that this will hurt even more, shoving the stalk of one of the roses inside, replacing the scissors. he feels the thorns ripping his muscle tissue apart, but he must keep going, pushing all of the fifteen inch stalk inside of himself. it slides underneath his skin and he’s just about to pass out from the violent sensation, but soon the unbloomed bud is pressing against the opening of his skin, and miraculously it stops his blood flow.

julius is still breathing heavily, looking around the bathroom that is suddenly brighter than it was when he first entered, banging his head against his fist to think about something else. he still has two more to go.

* * *

he wears a loose cardigan to shield his arms that now are carrying three white roses around. the ends of the stalks pokes painfully against the insides of his elbows while he helps vincent and andrew decorate the tree. andrew looks at him suspiciously between the branches and glitter boas, and julius does his best to hide the gut-wrenching pain he is in. he smiles brightly, happy that andrew’s even looking at him. but andrew’s a clever boy. he’s not stupid at all, no matter how many times julius would love to believe he is. andrew takes him by the hand and pulls him aside and julius grows all cold, hoping that andrew won’t feel the flower petals against his fingers when he holds him like this. he avoids eye contact when they stand in the hallway, right outside of their rooms.

‘are you alright?’ he asks, this sweet boy, ‘you’re really pale.’

julius laughs softly and shrugs his shoulders, tongue running over bloodless lips. ‘i haven’t slept, that’s all.’

andrew is not stupid, but he is kind. he lets it go without asking any further, but julius can feel his burning gaze at the back of his neck throughout the whole day.

* * *

the roses start tinting pink as the hours go by. the base of the petals are already turning crimson red, colored by the blood he still has left in his little body. andrew will be able to get his red roses after all, and it’ll be a nice goodbye present, judging by the fact that the price for such a gift is the death of julius himself.

* * *

christmas in this house is a lovely time, and around the tree they sit, opening gifts and drinking golden liquor. julius declines any alcohol and says that he isn’t feeling very well, to which he receives a huff from lucien. julius settles on water instead, quickly becoming lukewarm in his hands that aren’t moving very much. he is slowly becoming limp, and his head is resting peacefully on andrew’s shoulder.

very soon, it is andrew’s turn. he opens presents and lights up with happiness over every gift he receives, and julius gently twists a lazy finger inside of his sleeve, nudging him to come closer. the room is silent, all focus on them as andrew _is_ the center of attention right now, and julius speaks quietly so no one else will hear but him.

‘i’m going to get your present.’

andrew leans away and nods, the smile of christmas so prominent on his features that julius almost feels bad about not being able to see it next year.

he stands up with a stumble, getting laughed at by someone that implies him drinking around corners and in the darkness. there’s laughter following him as he stumbles down the hallway and towards the bathroom. he leans against walls to not fall over, wrists hanging limp. he does not notice the long brushstrokes of blood that he is painting across the wallpaper.

inside the bathroom he locks the door and sits down on the toilet seat, putting his head between his knees to regain a bit more consciousness. this whole thing should only take about ten minutes. he must be able to go through that. it’s andrew, after all. _andrew._

julius hiccups and lifts himself up again, holding onto the sink for leverage. his forehead presses against the bathroom mirror and he coughs once, twice, seeing blood mixed with saliva drip down his lips in long threads. he sets his feet far apart for balance purposes and rolls up his sleeves. the rose inside of his left arm has slid out a little bit, but it’s still cherry red and full of julius’ life. he rolls up the other one. the one by his wrist is still set in place and is just as red and lovely, but the one that’s a bit further up is only a weak blush color. julius furrows his eyebrows at the bleakness of it. is there no blood left?  
  
pulling the left rose out, he chokes on his own breath and finds the horror of the thorns still being inside of him. green-tinted circles lie in a line from the birthmark on the middle of his forearm to the bend of his arm. when he touches them they’re hard and aren’t moving. no blood comes out.  
  
he swallows vomit and continues onto the next arm. the rose by his wrist is harder to pull out because of the fact that all of the thorns hasn’t fallen off. the ones that are still left drags painfully against the empty veins, and he sobs hysterically when he sees drops of blood drip down his fingertips. the second rose joins the first inside of the sink.

‘julius? are you alright?’

it’s andrew. julius would usually be happy to hear his voice, but now is not a good time. he presses half a roll of toilet paper against his wrist just to stop the bleeding. andrew can’t see him yet. it’ll ruin the present. but when he opens his mouth to talk nothing but a slur of bloody sounds comes out.

‘are you crying?’

the handle rattles. he’s trying to get in. julius must do this fast, so he steps back and leans against the wall of the opposite side of the mirror to stare at himself. he’s white. there’s not an ounce of color on his skin, no matter where he looks. he might as well be a ghost.

‘julius, you have to open the door.’

he takes a hold of the rose.

‘julius, seriously.’

he pulls.

‘you’re scaring me.’

the last of his blood, that’s not yet inside of the rose, splatters across the mirror accompanied by a blood-shrieking scream from julius.

the door unlocks, because andrew opens it with the help of what hurt julius when they first met, and it flies open. julius is already on the floor, staring down at the blood that runs over his palm. what a bummer. another hour and the pink rose would’ve been just as red.

julius can’t focus his eyes on andrew, but he knows that he’s there. he’s crouching beside him and sees the holes on his skin, the leftover thorns, the rose in his hand. he takes a hold of him, and he’s so warm. his hands are like a sauna, burning his skin, and julius sees andrew trying to get his blood inside of him again. andrew’s crying and screaming, but there’s no point. all of his blood and life is inside of the roses already. his heart is no longer beating. he can’t save him this time, and that’s okay. he does, however, see the rest of his new brothers in the doorway. someone’s throwing up. the rest are either staring or crying. julius carefully lifts his hand, but he doesn’t get it further than onto his lap.

‘this one isn’t finished.’

_ he’s talking so quietly. _

‘i was in a bit of a hurry.’

andrew says something, but it’s impossible to hear what it is. julius smiles weakly as the last of his life drips out of him.

‘but i still want you to have it.’

god, now he’s fall apart. barely breathing.

‘i love you very much. merry christmas.’

he would’ve said a lot more if he had more time, obviously. how he’s thankful that andrew saved him and let him have a nice last months instead of the horrors of war. he couldn’t really have asked for a better ending than this.

he falls limp, and is gone. and andrew is holding him, just like he did when they first met. it begins and ends with andrew, thankfully.


End file.
